


Take Me And Do As You Will

by Val_Creative



Category: Der Gevatter Tod | Godfather Death (Fairy Tale), Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Dark Fantasy, Doctors & Physicians, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Human/Non-Human Relationship, Not Really Character Death, Religion, Ritual Sex, Romance, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: "Watch over my son Morrigan," the father begged, wheezing. "He has no mother. No kin. I do not have long if you are here."Death agreed, patiently waiting for his heart to cease, soothing his brow — for in the eyes of Death, all souls are fair and equal.
Relationships: Death/Morrigan (Der Gevatter Tod | Godfather Death), Godfather Death/The Physician (Der Gevatter Tod | Godfather Death)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13
Collections: Return to the Iron Triangle - January 2020





	Take Me And Do As You Will

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



> OHHHH WOW I LOVED DOING THIS. I HAD NO IDEA I WAS GONNA LOVE THIS. Thank you so much to the mods of **Return to the Iron Triangle - January 2020** for allowing me to join and thank you to my giftee for letting me unleash my obsession with fairytales. I hope anyone reading enjoys this and comments/thoughts would be so appreciated. ❤︎❤︎

*

Death knows all and cares for all. But even he himself cannot alter what is Fate.

A newborn boy emerged into this world, and God asked the father if he may watch over him. God promised the newborn many years of blessings. His father turned him away, knowing God was spiteful and cruel and unjust to those who did not worship in the way God demanded.

Not long after, the Devil asked the newborn's father if he may watch over him instead, promising wealth and women and whatever the boy's heart mayst desire. The father knew the Devil was a trickster and would not keep his word.

Unsure of who will look for his newborn son as the winter grew harsh and dark, and his health thwarted him, the father could only wait for reprieve.

Death came when the ice-crusted snow billowed into the chimney, dousing the warmth of embers and fire. 

"Watch over my son Morrigan," the father begged, wheezing. "He has no mother. No kin. I do not have long if you are here."

Death agreed, patiently waiting for his heart to cease, soothing his brow — for in the eyes of Death, all souls are fair and equal.

And that is why the newborn's father knew his son would be guarded for as long as he lived. He would acquire the mysteries and kindness and infinite pleasures of existence through Death's eyes, knowing that one day — his time would soon come.

*

The boy was sheltered by a cowherd and his wife, growing into his youth with splendor. Vigor. He was not yet ready to shovel out the dirtied, stinking hay crawling with flies or train the goats to push carts, so Morrigan spend his hours in the grasslands.

He fetched apples for a pie, swearing to the cowherd's wife to be home before sunlight dipped behind the mountain.

On his way into the fields, Morrigan glimpsed Death, halting.

Death stood silently by a broken, wooden gate.

He wore a cloak of many silks, heavy and formless, and greyer than any fearful, lonesome shadow which crept into Morrigan's bedroom so late at night. His eyes were dark and endless, but full of a gentle familiarity upon the boy he swore himself to. Morrigan asked Death a great deal of questions, childish and brightly grinning, and received many answers he did not understand at such a tender age.

Morrigan returned without any apples, bare-footed and knowing that he was too late as the the mountainous sunlight vanished. He wept fretfully when the cowherd's wife slapped him across the face as his punishment, and he was ordered to bed.

*

Winters thrived and languished, as Morrigan became a fine man. Handsome. Stubborn and thoughtful and warmhearted.

He spent his days collecting herbs, learning their priorities.

A chamomile flower or two in boiling hot water to sedate. Feverfew for aching heads. Ginger used by the midwives for new and young mothers vomiting up their suppers without prompting. Milk thistle for the liver and wort for uncommon ills of the mind and valerian for sleepless nights.

Death sought him out while Morrigan rested with his basket by a river, fanning himself in the heat.

"I thought you were a dream," he exclaimed, grinning like a child.

_"Only so."_

"Did you know I was training to be a physician?" When he does not answer, Morrigan cannot assume Death's position. "My father died of a terrible illness and it could have been prevented had anyone seen to him. No one should suffer as he did."

At the unwavering passion in Morrigan's voice, Death nodded.

_"Then I shall show you how to become a famed and beloved physician."_

*

A princess in Morrigan's kingdom fell to sickness, and the king commanded every living physician to bring their cures. 

Morrigan knew of the princess's generosity to her servants and her benevolence to the commonfolk.

He entered her bedchambers and witnessed Death at the foot of her bed, understanding it was nearly too late for her, and did something foolish. Lifting the flushed-faced, writhing princess, Morrigan turned her so she laid at her head to Death instead at her feet.

Upon realizing his trick, Death snatched Morrigan's hand into his ice-cold, skeletal grip and tugged him out of the room. 

_"You must never do this again."_

For the first time in his life, Morrigan feared Death. The faintest yellow-glow in his dark eyes. His softly spoken anger. Morrigan whispered to never trick Death again, shuddering when Death's fingers lay upon his cheek, brushing needfully over his mouth.

*

Within a fortnight, Morrigan wedded the princess. 

He did not protest.

He did not want her. 

He imagined that yellow-glow in the blackness of his eyelids, as Morrigan thrust himself erratically into the princess's sweet, hairy cunt, pressing their nakedness together and feeling her clench in anticipation for his seed. He knew his duty to this kingdom. He poured into her womb, quickening the princess with a brand new life, listening numbly to her breathless, eager whimpers.

*

Their newborn was dying.

Morrigan gave him potions and herbs, tinctures, swaddling him and advising the royal physicians to keep an eye on him when he couldn't be there. The princess slapped Morrigan for his insolence, for bestowing her with a weak, repulsive son.

At the strike of midnight, Death stood at the foot of the newborn's crib. He waited.

"Forgive me," Morrigan wept, turning his son around.

He found himself taken by force, gripped and heaved aside, shown to a long, endless cave of yellow-glow candles. Every candle was a human life, and when they went out — they were reaped. Morrigan stared in horror to his newborn's too-short candle, its wax solidifying in the lack of heat.

" _You have failed me_ ," Death rumbled. " _You knew only life gives Death meaning_."

"You already have me, so take me and do as you will." Morrigan begged, wheezing. "Take me instead of my boy."

Death held his scythe aloft, high, high, until the corpse candles flicker. Tears spilled to Morrigan's cheeks.

He held Death's face, kissing him, tasting his own warm salt and flesh, moaning in astonishment when Death's lips opened to his. His scythe lowered. Morrigan felt no pain, no slice of skin or trickle of blood. He lived, feeling Death embrace and kiss him in abandonment, his skeletal-thin fingers raking into Morrigan's wild red hair and tracing every blemish and freckle on his milk-pale skin. 

" _You were always mine_ ," Death told him. 

It was more of a low, affectionate mumble than a rattle. Morrigan's expression brightened into a grin until he was fine and handsome once more. He laughed, tumbling against cave-stones, surrendering to Death's magic and power and his infinite love.

His eyes, dark as Death, widened as Morrigan felt him inside, crying out soundless. Filling him. Tantalizing him. Worshiping him.

Leaving him alone in a pile of heavy, silken cloaks.

*

Morrigan's son lived, ruling a peaceful and good era.

Death watched over him. 

*


End file.
